Three Poems

I Think of Us as Teenagers as I Think about Consumption

I remember when paraphernalia used
to sound sexy, now it sounds clinical.
I reconjure how my friend’s bong sat
on his desk like an angry gnome wanting
to be full, wanting only to eat and excrete
and, like the rest of us, needing a little
help. And you are not a damp lung
plump with the story of your life. You are
not the downed picket, the breach
in our defenses long since clumped over
with soil and grass. You are not the clover
pressed to the nose of the small child
across the street, her red hair cutting
your name in cursive on the night
breeze. Oh, darling, you are not even
the small bit of sky I draw in to say this,
clear and cold, but only the illusion
we agree upon, the lovely blue of it.

As I Think of Consumption, I Think of Us Now

The snagged wind fails by the red hedge. We’re all filthy
until we aren’t. I’ve sped        off without sunglasses

into the hard    rain. I’ve swished       cold spit and said
nothing            to new corn peeking   out of the soil

like it knew     a secret, like it knew which    world would
come next. I’ve heard, without           trying, we eat

ourselves whole          in our lifetimes           one particle
at a time. And there’s that corn          again

and the drunk-ass wind stumbling along the wet asphalt.
Mornings, I have so much      to say to you, but I can

never find your ear, never      trace your cheek to the soft
spot you love to be      kissed.

—

John A. Nieves has poems forthcoming or recently published in journals such as: Beloit Poetry Journal, American Literary Review, Sycamore Review, Puerto del Sol, and Mid-American Review. He won the Indiana Review Poetry Contest and his first book, Curio (2014), won the Elixir Press Annual Poetry Award Judge’s Prize. He is assistant professor of English at Salisbury University. He received his M.A. from University of South Florida and his Ph.D. from the University of Missouri.